


The Memory

by JayWrites



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Smut, sexy fun times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites/pseuds/JayWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treasure hunting twins, Damien & Jamie Hart, break into Sharpe Mansion in search of rumored billions hidden deep inside the house. However, they soon find more than hidden riches lie behind its doors.</p>
<p>**I originally deleted this but decided to re-upload it**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Damien sat at a table in the back of the diner and impatiently checked his phone to see if his sister had responded to either his calls or his plenteous texts but there was still nothing. He exhaled an annoyed sigh and signaled for the waitress to bring him a refill of coffee. He nodded to the waitress as she poured the drink and quietly thanked her before looking at his watch. It was almost three o’clock. “Goddammit, Jamie,” he murmured to himself. He told her repeatedly that this meeting was important and, for it to go well, she had to be punctual.

Victor Reeves was a temperamental man. He was the type of man that would talk softly to you one minute and the next, without warning, grab your throat in anger if you so much as blinked at him. Very few people knew how to deal with a man like Victor—and even fewer were willing to wait around to learn how to—yet Damien had been one of the few to maintain a successful rapport with the man. Their relationship worked so well that Victor had even agreed to fly out to Detroit to meet with him—something he has never done—and now his sister had the audacity to be late.

Damien pulled out his phone and was about to call her again when it rang. Jamie’s picture and number flashed on the screen; Damien quickly pressed the “answer” key. “Where the hell are you, Jamie? It’s after three! I told you Victor demands punctuality.”

“Calm your tits, bruh. I’m a block away. I got stopped by the police and you know how they do. I was lucky they didn’t want to check the trunk or we would be having an entirely different conversation right now.”

“The cops? Shit! You think they recognized you?”

“I’m not sure. They were eyeing me for a minute but I don’t think they caught on. I mean, I’m not being followed so that’s good, right?”

Damien breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, that’s good. The longer we can hold them off the better.” He heard the bell that hung over the diner door ring signifying that someone had just entered the building. He instinctively looked up to see who the new patron was and nearly lost his breath at the sight of Victor. “Oh shit,” he whispered into his cell. “He’s here!”

“Already? I thought you said your meeting wasn’t until three thirty.”

“It is! But he always likes to be early which is why I told your ass to come at three.”

“I—nevermind. Look, I’m at the light. I’ll be there in a minute. Think you can keep your boyfriend entertained for that long?”

“Dammit, Jamie, this is—” The hum of the dial tone informed him that she had hung up on him. He swore under his breath and hit the “end” button on his phone. He loved his sister dearly but she had the flaw of not taking things seriously. He guessed that it was probably because she could talk her way out of—or, in a couple of cases, _into_ —any situation and never really had to worry about the consequences.

“Damien Hart,” Victor said in a thick Columbian accent as he extended his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

Damien shook his hand. “And you as well, Mr. Reeves.” The two men sat down. “Can I get you something? Coffee? A slice of lemon meringue pie? They make the best desserts.”

“No. No,” Victor said putting his hand up to stop Damien from offering him the entire menu. “I’ve already eaten.” Damien gave an understanding nod before quickly looking out of the window in hopes of seeing his sister’s car drive by. “Let’s get down to business.” Victor’s voice brought Damien’s attention back to him. “Tell me about this plan of yours and why I should be interested in it.”

Damien swallowed hard. Although he knew Victor trusted him, he also knew that it would be hard to convince him to agree to finance their planned excursion without his sister’s talent of persuasion. “Well, um, I-I know you’ve been looking to…expand your empire, so to speak, and-and I think…” The bell over the door chimed again and Damien looked up hoping to see his sister. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw her standing in the doorway looking around for him. “Excuse me,” he said to Victor before quickly rising and meeting Jamie. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Ew. Nice to see you, too, D. No, don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” she sarcastically said while removing her coat. “Glad to see I’m just as important as whoever this guy is.”

“Victor Reeves. You know you’re important, Jamie, but this guy is—”

“I know. I know. ‘Big time.’”

“Yes. Now… go over there and do what you do best.” Jamie winked and plastered on a fake smile before following her brother back to his table. “I apologize, Mr. Reeves, for my rudeness earlier.”

“It’s quite all right,” Victor said while frowning at Jamie. “Who is this?”

“This is my twin sister, Jamie.”

Victor studied her a little longer and finally said, “You did not tell me you were inviting her. If I knew we were having a family outing I would have invited my daughter.” Victor said this with a smile but Damien knew that it was more malicious than pleasant.

“I assure you, sir, it’s business not personal. My sister is a major asset to the matter I was telling—”

Victor held up his hand and cut him off. “I do not speak business in mixed company, Damien Hart. You know this.” He rose from his chair.

“Pardon me, Mr. Reeves,” Jamie said, “but your accent is lovely. If you don’t mind me asking where are you from?”

“Why,” he asked tersely while still suspiciously eyeing her.

She dismissed his rudeness with a light laugh. “No reason, sir, I assure you. It’s just that your accent reminds me of my ex’s. He was Columbian.”

“¿Cuál cuidad,” Victor asked testing her honesty.

“Él nació en Florencia, Caquetá pero crecía en Nueva York.”

Damien watched cautiously as the two spoke. He could tell his sister was doing her best to try to salvage the meeting but he wasn’t sure if Victor was buying it yet. Although he wasn’t religious in the least, he said a small silent prayer.

“Ah, Señorita Jamie Hart,” Victor always said the full name of whoever he was addressing, “Habla español muy bien.”

“Gracias, señor.”

“Dígame… ¿qué es el nombre de su ex-novio?”

“Juan.”

“‘Juan’. ¡Que genérico!” He looked at Damien and smiled before returning his attention to Jamie. “Y ‘Juan’…,” he gave a light laugh, “¿tiene un apellido?”

“de Valdes.”

“Ah. Juan de Valdes,” Victor repeated before reaching in his pocket and pulling out his phone. “I really hope that you’re not lying to me, Jamie Hart.” He searched through his contacts for a number and hit the “call” button then looked at Damien and added, “For both your sakes.” He glared at the twins while talking on the phone in Spanish. “Necesito información sobre Juan de Valdes de Nueva York. Nació en Florencia…sí, sí…”

Damien tried to hide his trepidation as Victor continued talking on the phone. Every once in a while he would ask Jamie a question in Spanish about Juan and she would coolly answer him. After a few minutes, Victor ended the call. He tensed his jaw as he looked at the phone then back at them. A large toothy grin grew on his face. “Well, Miss Jamie Hart, it appears that you are telling the truth.”

Damien could barely hold in his relief at the news. He looked over to his sister and saw that a calm smile sat on her face. “I understand your hesitance to believe me, Mr. Reeves,” she said. “A man as important as you has to watch his back, right?” Victor nodded in agreement. “A good con man knows who he can and cannot fool. The moment I met you I could tell you wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth. You can ask me anything you want as long as when you’re done… you’ll agree to finish the meeting you had with my brother.”

Victor mulled it over for a moment before extending his hand. “Agreed, Miss Hart.”

Jamie smiled before shaking his hand with her right and gently placing her left one on his wrist. “Good. Now let’s sit down. These heels are killing my feet.” The three sat at the table. “Now what would you like to know?”

“Is Jamie Hart your real name,” Victor asked before they were even comfortably seated.

“Is Victor Reeves yours?”

“Jamie,” Damien reprimanded at her curt reply.

“No, no,” Victor said as he chuckled. “She is wary. I respect that. Victor Reeves is my name, Miss Hart, until I no longer have need of it.”

She smiled at his response. “Likewise for me, Mr. Reeves.”

“So,” he leaned forward and locked his hands together on the table, “I have worked with your brother for over a year. Tell me… Why is it I am just now meeting you?”

“Well, I’ve been out of the country for a while. The heat got too high on me. Came back home to lay low. You know how it is.”

“What kind of trouble, Miss Hart?”

She gave a quiet chuckle. “The clichéd ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ kind.”

The smile quickly fell from his face. “You’re not being very honest, Miss Hart.”

“You’re right. Sorry. A couple of years ago, Damien and I had heard from a friend of a friend about this rare Michelangelo painting that Arturo Alcheri reportedly owned. You know who that is?” Victor nodded. “Well, the painting,” she continued, “is rumored to be worth at least $250 million.”

“And you tried to steal it?”

“Not ‘tried,’ Mr. Reeves, succeeded.”

“Bullshit,” he spat out; his face darkening with anger.

“True shit.”

“Alcheri is the fourth richest man in the world. There is no way you robbed him. I warned you about lying to me, Miss Hart.”

“But…she-she’s not lying,” Damien chimed in. “We, well, she _did_ steal the painting.”

More willing to believe Damien, Victor’s anger began to ebb. “How is that possible?”

“Not to brag, Mr. Reeves, but I can steal the crown off the Queen of England’s head. Hell, I stole your watch and you didn’t even know it.”

Victor quickly checked his wrist and saw that his watch was, in fact missing. Jamie held up the jewelry and handed it back to him. “Impressive.”

“Breaking into Alcheri’s security system was as easy as stealing that watch. The system is shit. I hacked into in it less than ten minutes. An hour later we and the painting were gone.”

“I never heard about any robbery.”

“Why would you? The fourth richest man in the world wouldn’t dare let it get out that he could be robbed so easily, now would he?”

“And the painting? Where is it now?” Jamie and Damien exchanged looks. “Ah. Let me guess,” Victor said as he read their looks, “you do not have it.”

“Alcheri has the police in his back pocket. They watched every possible exit from Venice like a hawk,” Jamie said. “We couldn’t leave the city with it and we couldn’t stay because a good thief never stays in one place too long.”

“Our only options were to return it—” Damien added.

“Which sure as shit wasn’t going to happen,” Jamie interrupted.

“No. Or hide it.”

“Where did you hide it,” Victor asked. His curiosity was piqued now.

“We kept it with a friend,” Jamie answered.

“And you trusted this friend?”

“Well, we knew he couldn’t do anything with it. If he tried to fence it the authorities would be on him like wet on water plus he was too old to try to run with it.”

“So the painting is still with him then?”

The twins exchanged another look before Damien sadly responded, “No. About a month or so later his house caught on fire. Burned him and supposedly everything in it. Unless that painting was fire-proof, it’s gone.”

Victor nodded and inquired, “But how did you get out?”

“We were beginning to make quite a name for ourselves,” Jamie proudly smiled, “and we couldn’t leave the province together. So we decided that one of us would leave at one time and the other another. Got a couple of fake passports, greased a few palms, and snuck out at different ports and went our separate ways. Eventually, I ran into Juan. Did a couple of jobs with him. But then I got a little too cocky. I went back to Venice after all the drama died down in hopes that maybe the painting had somehow survived the fire. It hadn’t. And the second I stepped my pretty face back in the country the polizia hunted me down. Turns out in the months Damien and I were away we had became the prime subjects in the painting robbery.”

“And yet you managed to escape again.”

“Barely,” she lifted the sleeve of her shirt and revealed an old bullet wound. “After I got this baby I decided it was best to return home and heal. By the time I got back here, Damien was already working for you.”

“And now you want to work for me too? You want to put your life back in danger so quickly?”

“No offense, Mr. Reeves, but I don’t work for anyone but myself.”

A smile crooked on one corner of Victor’s face. “Then why are you here, Miss Hart?”

“I’m here because my brother needs me and, by extension, you do too.”

The smile dropped from his face and it was obvious that his anger was quickly rising. “You are very arrogant.”

“No. Confident.”

“A very thin line to walk.”

“No. Arrogant people never live up to their own hype.”

“And you do?”

“If you really want to know the answer to that, Mr. Reeves, you have to agree to help my brother with his expedition.”

“So we’ve come full circle then, yes? Tell me, Damien Hart, about this…thing your sister speaks of.”

Damien couldn’t hide the broad grin on his face. Victor willing to continue talking about business obviously meant that Jamie had, in a small way, won him over. “Have you ever heard of Sharpe Mansion, Mr. Reeves?”

“I think so. It’s in England, yes?”

“Cumbria, yes. There’s supposedly millions buried in that house.”

“‘Supposedly’? I do not open my check book for ‘supposedly,’ Mr. Hart.”

“There _are_ millions in that house, Mr. Reeves,” Jamie said. “Paintings, first edition books, artifacts… and that’s not including the money that’s buried on the property. Together all of it totals up to roughly $570 million.”

“And how do you know this?”

Jamie glanced at her brother before answering. “Well, for one, there’s a website. There are pictures galore of the interior. The paintings alone, if they’re originals, are worth a couple mil. And if they aren’t, I’m sure I can fool a couple of dull minded new money otherwise. Might get double what an original’s worth.”

“I’m still very unimpressed, Miss Hart. ‘Supposedly,’ ‘if’ these are not words a man such as I like to hear. And they certainly aren’t words that make me—”

“Open your check book,” she finished with a wry smile.

“Jamie,” Damien said placing a hand on her arm. She looked at him and he softly shook his head. “Don’t.”

“I would listen to your brother, Miss Hart,” Victor warned. “You are getting dangerously close to crossing a line.”

“I apologize but there _is_ treasure in that house.”

“Really? Have you actually been to Sharpe Mansion? Have you seen it with your own eyes? Or are you still offering me ‘supposes’?” His growing temper was apparent. To push him would be unwise yet Jamie refused to ease up.

“I am offering you the opportunity to increase your capital, Mr. Reeves. You are standing at the precipice of great wealth and power—the kind that makes the fortune you have now look like a pauper’s pittance. You can take this chance and jump with us or you can sit back and watch as somebody else take the money that should be yours.”

“Why are you so sure about this, Miss Hart?”

“Because,” she exhaled softly, “I’m psychic, Mr. Reeves.”

Damien recognized the look on Victor’s face. He had seen it many times before and always before some great harm happened to the person that incited his anger. He started to speak in hopes of quelling Victor’s temper. “Mr. Reeves—”

“I warned you about mocking me,” Victor slowly said through clench teeth, “and lying to me.”

“She’s not lying,” Damien quickly interjected on his sister’s behalf. “I can’t explain it but she _is_ psychic.”

Before Victor could reply Jamie quickly added, “I can prove it.”

“Can you now,” Victor smirked.

“Yes. I wasn’t just stealing your watch earlier, Mr. Reeves, I was also reading you. I can tell you everything you did this morning.” Victor said nothing but the look in his eyes challenged her to continue. Jamie gave a quick reassuring nod to her brother before saying to Victor, “You slept through your alarm this morning which you hate because you like to get an early start. You threw it across the wall and shattered it but you’re not worried because there is already a new one sitting by your bed. You keep a collection of alarms just for this reason. You went jogging with your dogs, Paolo and Ribisi, named after your closest childhood friends. Two of your bodyguards followed close behind you in case you needed them. You returned home about an hour later and took a shower. You’re wearing dark grey boxer briefs right now. You had egg whites and sausage for breakfast; swallowed that down with fresh squeezed orange juice. At noon you had lunch downtown with your lover, James. You ordered the parmesan chicken; he had a BLT. Afterwards you met your other lover, David, for sex. Should I go on, Mr. Reeves, or are you impressed yet?”

Victor didn’t respond. She _was_ right. She had accurately detailed most of his day. She even knew information that no one else knew about. Neither of his childhood friends had lived to adulthood; the only other person who had known them were either also dead or wouldn’t recognize an adult Victor after his name change and plastic surgery. “You…”

“I am psychic.”

“If she says there’s money in that house,” Damien said after noticing Victor’s rage, once again, subside, “then it’s there. I bet my life on it.”

“You bet your life,” Victor finally responded. “You goddamn right you are if she’s wrong,” he said with a laugh. He slapped his hands together and cheerfully added, “Now. Let’s make some arrangements, hmm?”

\-------------------

Sharpe Mansion looked twice as dubious in person than it had in the pictures on its website. The building was at least four stories tall and stretched out almost an acre. The house was painted a smoky black and the gothic design made it look as if it came right out of a Victorian era novel. Jamie felt queasy just looking at it. Ever since Victor had agreed to finance their hunt—under the supervision of one of his most trusted guards, Lawrence—she had been suffering through weeks of restless nights.

She had premonitions before every venture she and her brother partook in. They were usually hazy pictures—as if trying to view something underwater—and weren’t always very accurate. She would dream of a building having three doors when in reality there were only two; or a safe hidden behind a wall in the attic when it was really in the basement and, on occasion, had been cracked decades before she was even born. Sometimes the spirits would send her misleading visions just to fuck with her but this was different.

Sharpe Mansion was calling her in a way that no other place had. At first, she thought the images that pervaded her sleep were nothing more than the usual dreams but when she awoke she always felt _more_ tired as if she was actually living them. They were so vivid. If she went to bed hungry and dreamed of eating a meal she would awake feeling stuffed. She even could taste remnants of the food on her tongue. In another, she had spent the entire night dancing and woke with blisters on her feet. Once she dreamed that it was storming and she had ran outside—either from or to someone, she couldn’t quite remember—and awoke drenched.

Then there were the other dreams where she would be in the arms of a lover. She never saw his face but she could feel every single touch and kiss he rendered. When she woke there would find various love marks on her skin: crescent shaped indentations on her thighs where her dream lover sunk his nails into her; shallow teeth marks on her breasts; slight discolorations on her neck from when he sucked on it as he drove himself into her. Once she even woke with a lock of long black hair that she accidentally pulled from his scalp in a moment of ecstasy. When she saw it she let out a shrill scream.

There were two worlds: the spirit and the physical—always coexisting but never colliding—yet for Jamie the lines between them had blurred. Was the waking world she inhabited with her brother real or the one she visited at night? She felt as if there were two versions of her. Both were fighting to control her and every time she closed or opened her eyes she had to make a choice. She had to choose a reality. Of course she would never leave her brother; yet now that she stood just a few feet away from the front steps of Sharpe Mansion she felt as if she _belonged_ there.

“You okay,” Damien asked with a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she lied.

He noticed the shakiness in her voice. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she replied more confidently. She cleared her throat and added, “Let’s go get this money.”

The duo (and the ever present Lawrence) ascended the many steps to the mansion’s large wooden front double doors and entered the building. Their goal was to first survey the house to see if and where the security cameras were located; where the most expensive items were; and how easy or difficult it would be to remove them. In the last few years, the house was bought by a new family, the Bellamy’s, who had renovated the main and second floor of it and turned it into a tourist site. The top upper floors were closed off from guests due to work still being done on them. Next to the entrance sat a table filled with pamphlets about the new home owners hosting costume parties and séances—causing Jamie to roll her eyes at their naiveté—as well as the times the building was open to guests. Inside the pamphlet was a floor plan of the main and second floor. Damien quietly studied it and handed his sister a pamphlet. She took it but didn’t open it; instead she folded it and stuck it into her back pocket.

Jamie didn’t need to look at the pamphlet. She hadn’t told her brother but, due to her dreams, she already knew the layout of the house. She knew that on the right of the main entrance sat a large library that was filled to the brim with books. On the left was a parlor room which was supposed to be used for entertaining guests but eventually became the place where Edwin Sharpe—the great grandson of the man who had originally built the house—would hide his illicit affairs with a certain Mr. Clayton Abbott. Further down the hall laid the kitchen and dining area; further from that was the entrance to the arboretum. Up the expansive staircase laid the first set of bedrooms and a bathroom. Two doors down on the right of the stairs sat a large office where poor Edwin, much to his wife’s grief (and possibly relief), hung himself.

Edwin’s suicide was one of many deaths at the mansion. Jamie knew this because the spirits had told her. Before she had fully stepped foot into the house the ghosts met her at the door. They stood before her with broken necks, half-blown heads and crushed skulls. They spoke to her not with words but via a bombardment of images that flashed through her mind like a macabre flipbook. As terrifying as these apparitions were, they didn’t half scare her as the ones that _didn’t_ greet her. The ones hiding in the shadows. The tall, dark-haired man peaking at her from behind the library doorway; then again watching her as she moved through the foyer from the stair banister. He watched her as if he knew her. As if he was waiting for her.

Then there was the other one. Jamie couldn’t see her but she felt her. She felt an odd mixture of emotions whenever this spirit made itself known—anger, hatred, lust. The emotions were so strong that she had to fight harder than she ever had to not give into them. In all her life she had never met a spirit as strong at this one. Unlike the man, this spirit wanted Jamie gone. Not just from the house but from life itself.

She felt a strong pulling feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. “Jump…jump…,” it said to her. It was so strong she could even see herself climbing to the attic and obeying the pulling. She needed to get out of there. She quickly ran out the front door. She inhaled large breaths of the chilly October air. “Jamie! Jamie, what’s wrong,” her brother asked from behind her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder but she shook it off. “I lied, Damien. I’m not okay. This house is not okay. We need to go. Now.”

Damien looked behind him and saw that Lawrence had followed them out. He grabbed his sister’s elbow and pulled her a few feet from the front door. “What the hell are you talking about,” he whispered; his voice didn’t hide his agitation. “We can’t leave. We haven’t even finished surveillance.”

“Fuck that,” she yelled causing her brother to shush her. “We were wrong about this place. Usually I-I can avoid the things I see and the voices I hear but the ones here are different.”

Damien took a calming breath to quell his rising anger. “Jamie, _you_ were the one who suggested this place. _You_ said we can make major bank and never have to con or steal again. And now you’re just going to throw all that away.”

“I’m not throwing it away! I’m just saying… maybe this job isn’t _the_ job that we can retire on.”

“Goddammit, Jamie…”

“Please, Damien. There something…not right about this place. I mean so wrong I don’t even give a shit about what anything in there could be worth. Let’s just go.”

“Ugh. Jamie, do you see that six-foot-five, three hundred pounds of muscle staring at us,” he asked in reference to Lawrence.

“Yes,” Jamie sighed in annoyance.

“If we don’t go back in this house and do what Victor paid us to do—what _you_ convinced him to to do—Lawrence is going to call him. And Victor? He will be beyond pissed and he will either ask for the money we promised him or our heads. And I mean that literally. I’ve seen him shoot a guy in the _face_ for being a few dollars short.” He gently grabbed her shoulders. “Now, you do whatever it is you normally do to push those fuckers away and suck it up. We got business to handle.”

\-------------------

That evening Jamie lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She fought against giving into the sleep that was calling her. She didn’t want to dream. She knew that if she did she would be back at that damn mansion. She could barely finish the rest of the surveillance that afternoon even after her brother’s “pep talk” or whatever the hell it was. He had never been cold like that to her feelings before. Usually if she told him she had a sneaking suspicion about a job or a mark, he wouldn’t hesitate to call it off or, at the very least, proceed with caution. Her gift was a viable asset in their line of work. More than once it saved them from serious harm—minus a few occasions where their foolishness got the best of them—and even death. Yet now he treated it—and her—as if it was some great inconvenience.

However, she could understand his change in behavior. From just their short meeting she could tell that Victor wasn’t like any of the other men they had dealt with before. There was “scary” dangerous—men who were more puff and bravado than action—and then there was Victor. He was the kind of man who would probably snap a sick person’s neck for coughing while he was talking. She was stuck. She could sneak out of the bathroom window and not have to worry about Victor but she couldn’t leave her brother. The last thing she wanted was to wake up in the middle of the night and see his beaten spirit angrily standing over her awaiting an explanation. She hated the alternative as well. She knew returning to Sharpe Mansion was the stupidest thing she could ever do. (Even dumber than returning to Italy).

“Fuck everything,” she cursed into the darkness. She could really use a good night’s sleep but she knew she wasn’t going to get it until the job was done. “Fuck!” She closed her eyes shut and rubbed the lids.

“Clara…,” a voice called out. It was a clear as if someone had yelled it right in her ear. It made her jump. She quickly switched on the lamp sitting on a table next to the bed. She looked around the room and exhaled a breath of relief at emptiness. She turned the light back off and curled into a ball.

“Clara…” This time a chill accompanied the voice. The chill was so strong that she could feel goosebumps rise on her arms and back of her neck. Her body tensed up out of fear. “Clara,” the voice said again; this time she could feel a breath on her neck. It was warm as if it belonged to the living.

“I’m not Clara! You’re confused!” The voice continued to call the name. Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears in hopes that she could block out the voice. It didn’t work. “I can’t hear you,” she lied. “Go away. Go away. Go away.”

“Clara, my dear…” She felt a hand caress up her leg and thigh. Usually when a spirit touched her it felt light—as if she had walked into a spider’s web—but this one felt as real and solid as if it belonged to an actual man. For a second she thought— _hoped_ —that someone had somehow snuck into her room. But she knew better. The room was the size of a closet and had only two doors: the entrance and the bathroom. There was no way for an intruder to come in unnoticed. “Come to me, Clara.”

“Please,” she begged; her voice cracked as if she would burst into tears at any minute. “I’m not Clara. Go away.”

The hand still moved up her body but now she felt the mattress dip behind her as if someone had crawled into the bed with her. She felt an arm wrap around her. “Come to me,” the voice said. “Come home.”

She felt a pair of soft lips press a kiss to the back of her neck. She jumped up and screamed before quickly turning back on the bedside lamp. When she did she found the room once again empty. “Holy fuck,” she whispered in ragged breaths as she ran her fingertips across the back of her neck. She thought back to the night before when she pulled out a lock of the spirit’s hair from her dream. What if she hadn’t just brought those few strands out? What if, somehow, she brought _him_ out too? She was too afraid to stay in her room an extra minute.

She grabbed the blanket off her bed and the room key from the side table and exited her room. She ran up the stairs and banged on her brother’s door until he opened it. “Jamie,” he said irritated, “do you know what time it is?”

“I don’t give a shit, dude. I’m sleeping with you.”

“There’s only one bed.”

“I don’t care. I’ll sleep on the floor but I’m not staying in my room.” Damien groaned and reluctantly stepped aside to let her in. He handed her the extra pillows from his bed before crawling back under the covers and resuming his sleep. The floor was hard, of course, and smelled of stale cigarettes but Jamie didn’t care. She was happy she was no longer alone.

She closed her eyes and curled into a ball. She was about to fall to sleep when she heard the voice again. It was so close she could almost feel the lips graze against her earlobe. “Clara,” it said, “I’m waiting.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jamie was exhausted. She hadn’t slept more than an hour total in the past couple of days. Whenever she closed her eyes she would see the tall, dark-haired man beckoning her. No, not her. Some woman named Clara. It was easy for spirits to get confused. Death always took some time to adjust to but this was mostly for the recently deceased. Especially those that experienced sudden death like a car accident or a heart attack. They usually hung around the scene of their death waiting for someone like Jamie to explain what happened. Then, once realization set in, the newly deceased would either ask for help to move on or stay close to their loved ones. The latter usually happened. No one was sure what existed beyond death. Was there a Heaven or Hell? What about Purgatory? Reincarnation?

Jamie never had any answers for them. The closest she had ever come to knowing for herself was the time she almost drowned when she was eight. She and her brother went swimming at the local pool. She splashed happily about for a few minutes before suddenly feeling a hand wrap around her ankle. Next thing she knew, the ghost of a long dead child had pulled her underwater. She fought to stay afloat but the spirit had more strength than her young body possessed.

There was no white light. No long corridor. No saints fastidiously scribbling names into giant books. No angelic welcoming chorus. No smiling long passed family members with outstretched, waiting arms. No giant walls of fire. No wailing of anguished souls. No God or devil. Just darkness and silence. It was the loneliest feeling in the world for a child.

Then suddenly a fuzzy light appeared followed by the echoing sound of her name being called. The darkness faded away; the silence soon filled with the signs of life. Jamie was alive! A lifeguard had saved her from the dark abyss of death and now she had a second chance.

Yet now, twenty years later, Jamie wished her savior hadn’t been so successful. Normally she was far from suicidal. She had the unfortunate privilege to know what waited after life and had no intention of throwing herself back into that loneliness before her due time. (Even if–granted–her actions sometimes countered this fear.) But now thanks to these endless dreams, she had begun contemplating the idea more and more. Actually, she wasn’t sure she could still call them dreams. What she was experiencing was something much different; something more powerful. These… _things_ left imprints on her in ways she couldn’t quite explain. Usually when she awoke from a dream she would have to hurriedly jot down some important information she received before it lapsed into a hazy recollection. But these things! Her feet and back ached from working tirelessly on some domestic task; her body bore bruises from being grabbed or pushed by an unknown figure. She even woke once with a sore throat from screaming non-stop while running from someone. Jamie just wanted it all to end. The only thing that stopped her from harming herself in some fashion was her brother. She couldn’t leave him alone. Especially not while he was in debt to a man like Victor Reeves. No. She would have to push through the inescapable terror that pervaded her dreams until the job was done.

Besides, she needed answers. Answers that the spirits refused to provide her. She supposed she had that coming though. When she visited the house during her and her brother’s surveillance, the spirits had begged for her help. They wanted to “move on” to the next world. Jamie didn’t have the heart—or was it courage?—to tell them there was no “next world.” This little taste of an afterlife was all they had. No. She had to get her answers the old fashioned way: research.

That’s why she was back at Sharpe Mansion now hours before she and her brother was set to pull a big heist. It was stupid. They were still very high profile in many countries in Europe and if they aroused any suspicions it wasn’t certain that they would be able to avoid prison. Yet, her need for answers was stronger than her fear of imprisonment in a foreign country.

She knocked on the door and waited for one of the homeowners to respond. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a spirit staring at her, waiting for her to acknowledge its presence. “I’m not here for you,” Jamie mumbled without realizing that she could use its help. The spirit started to fade. “Oh shit! No wait! Come back!” It was too late, however. The spirit had completely left her. “Shit,” she swore to herself. She was so used to being bombarded by spirits on a near daily basis that shooing them had become second nature. “Fuck me,” she said just as the mansion doors open.

“I beg your pardon,” one of the owners, Mrs. Bellamy, said; her voice hid none of her disgust of opening the door upon this rude guest.

“I apologize. I was, uh,” Jamie took a short breath. She was not in the mood to bullshit an excuse. “Listen, I… I need some information about the house.”

“Our next tour is on Monday. Come back then,” Mrs. Bellamy said before trying to close the door.

Jamie caught it in her hand. “I can’t wait until Monday. I need information now.”

“You’ll find that out on the tour. Now let go!”

“Please! I’m literally begging for your help!”

“What’s this now,” Mr. Bellamy asked as he pried the door open much to his wife’s displeasure. Jamie nearly stumbled over at the quick movement of the door but she caught herself. “Who are you?”

“My name is… Jeannie.” Rule one of conning: never use your real name. “I’m trying to research some information about Sharpe Mansion for an article but I’ve seemed to come to a dead end.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for,” he gleefully said as he stepped aside and welcomed Jamie into the mansion. His wife crossed her chest with her arms and soured her face. Jamie didn’t know either of them but she was certain from the look the woman was giving her husband that he was going to receive so much shit when she left. “So tell me what paper is this for?”

“It’s just some local American one.” Rule two of conning: keep details short and vague. “I’m doing a piece on… on… haunted houses around the world. And, um, I have been just fascinated by Sharpe Mansion for years.”

“With good reason, too! The history is riveting!”

“Oh I know. Murder, hidden treasure, secret affairs. The story basically writes itself,” she gave a weak laugh that was matched with a hearty one from Mr. Bellamy.

“Shall I show you around?”

Jamie felt a familiar chill race up her spine. She heard that name again—Clara—softly whispered. She didn’t have to look in the direction the voice came from. She knew _he_ was there. Watching and waiting for her. Oh hell! This was a bad idea. “I… I d-don’t really want a tour.” Mr. Bellamy tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow at her peculiar behavior. If she didn’t get a hold of herself she was going to blow her already flimsy cover. She cleared her throat and quickly added, “I mean… not right now. I have so many more interviews to do. But I will be back I promise you that. Right now, though, I’m-I’m just looking to fill in a few blanks about the family tree.”

“Ah! What blanks?”

“Well… Uh, in the research I managed to gather I’ve come across a name: Clara. I don’t have a last name. I was wondering if you could tell me who was she to the Sharpes.”

“Clara? Clara…” He clicked his tongues a few times as he tried to remember the name. After a moment of mentally searching he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, dear, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Are you sure? Nothing in the entire Sharpe history?”

“I’m positive. Most of the Sharpes met tragic ends before they could wed and have children. The ones that did had very few daughters. The last female Sharpe was… Lucille.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. She’s the last female Sharpe birth recorded. She never married; never courted anyone actually. Her brother was engaged for a short while before that fell through. He killed himself sometime after the broken engagement—”

“Who was he engaged to? Was _her_ name Clara?”

“No. It was actually… Francesca… Something.”

“Francesca. Shit,” Jamie muttered under her breath.

“Pardon me?”

“Uh… So just Lucille and her brother and Francesca. No Clara’s anywhere? At all?”

“No. Thomas never had any children and Lucille, like I said, never married. The Sharpe legacy ended with her death.”

“Well that doesn’t help me at all does it,” Jamie snapped. She could still feel the dark-haired spirit eyeing her from the railing over the stairs. She could still hear him calling her “Clara.” It made a sickening feeling churn in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to vomit or faint.

“Are you okay, Miss,” Mr. Bellamy asked her. He placed a concerned hand on her shoulder and another one on her forearm to help steady her.

“I’m… I’m…” she swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat “No Clara’s, huh? Wh-wh-what about, uh, cousins or… or… ‘Come to me…’” Her words flew rapidly out of her mouth. The room felt as if it were spinning. She wanted to shout; she wanted to lie down. She wanted answers so she could be free from this damn pestering spirit. “‘Come to me,’” she repeated. It was almost as if the spirit was speaking _through_ her. “What about,” she began softly, “servants? Was there anyone who worked here named Clara?”

“I wouldn’t know. Our information is solely based on the Sharpe family line,” Mr. Bellamy gingerly replied. This girl was a peculiar one. Since they opened the mansion to the public, they had gotten their fair share of kooks but she might have been the strangest one yet. Maybe his wife was right to not let her in earlier. “Are you all right, miss?”

“I feel… I feel…” Jamie looked back at the stairs. The spirit was still there.

“Miss? You feel? Amelia,” he said to his wife, “get her a glass of water.”

“No,” Jamie gently protested. “I’m fine. I… just need to leave. Thank you for your time.”

She rushed back to the door.  Before she opened it Mr. Bellamy called to her, “You can try the library on Rushing. It might have information about this Clara you’re looking for.” She thanked him with a nod before taking one last look back at the stairs. The spirit was gone. This revelation gave Jamie no peace. Surely it would return tonight during their burglary. She would have to deal with it then; but for now she would relish in any momentary peace. She opened the door and quickly exited the mansion.

\-------------

Jamie didn’t know where to start. The library had a section dedicated to genealogies of all the well-known families in the area but digging through it all was a time consuming hassle. She sought some help from the librarian but she only redirected Jamie back to where she came from. She was going in circles. “Ugh… I could really use some help,” she whined aloud before resting her head against the dusty bookshelf.

Suddenly she felt that familiar cold shiver accompanied by that sickening turning in her stomach. “Clara,” a voice whispered to her. She could feel it right in her ear. “Clara,” it repeated. Her body shook from fear. She had hoped that the spirit hadn’t followed her. It was the foolish wish of a desperate woman. He called her again. No! Clara! He called for _Clara_ again.

Jamie reluctantly looked in the direction the voice came from. When she did she saw the tall, dark haired man from the mansion staring pointedly at her. She instinctively clutched a nearby book; not for self-defense but to keep from possibly fainting. She opened her mouth to speak but before a word could pass her lips the man turned and disappeared behind a shelf. Against her better reasoning, she followed him.

When she turned onto the aisle, she saw him waiting for her. Without a word he beckoned her to continue. She followed him left then right then up a back stairwell and finally to a row of books that looked as if no one had been there since the library opened in 1832. She browsed the shelves. _This is useless,_ she thought as she gently massaged her right temple. _I don’t even know what the fuck I’m looking for._ She continued down the row hoping something would catch her eye. She was about to give up when she heard a large thud from behind her.

Jamie gasped and jumped back at the sound of the fallen book. She could still feel that chill and queasiness in her stomach but she didn’t see the man. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. She picked up the book, blew the dust off the cover and coughed when it flew back up into her face. She fanned the excess dust away then read the book cover aloud, “Expansions and Revolutionaries, 1846.” Well, that was an odd book to find her answers in! But it was her last resort. If this book didn’t contain even a smidgen of information on this Clara person, then Jamie would have to resign all hope of ever getting a peaceful night’s sleep again.  

She took the book down to a better lit area on the main floor and sat at an empty desk. “Okay, Mr. Ghost Man,” she exhaled in frustration, “what are you trying to show me?” She began to gingerly flip through the pages. “What? What, what, what?” Suddenly a cold breeze blew the book open. Its pages flipped wildly before her. A scream held in her throat as she glanced around at the other patrons in fear—or was it hope?—that someone might witness what was taking place. Then the book landed on a large two-page panorama. The old black and white photograph was taken in front of the mansion. A large group of people stood in front of the building. Jamie read the caption underneath the picture, “‘Renovation of Sharpe Manor.’”

She moved on to the beginning of the article. “‘Sir Thomas Sharpe has finally returned from his expenditure in the wilds of Africa…’ Wow. ‘Wilds of Africa.’ This ought to be fun.” She rolled her eyes and continued on, “Um… ‘…to help his older sister, Lucille, maintain their family home.’ This still isn’t giving me anything!” She looked back the picture; her eyes landed on Thomas sternly glaring back at her. “Wait… The… the dark, haired man! So _you’re_ Sir Sharpe,” she whispered to herself. “And that’s Lucille,” she said while pointing at the picture. “She must be the other spirit I can’t see. Pretty. If not a little… intense. Seriously. Was smiling illegal back then or…” She continued on through the rest of the photo matching the names in the caption with the corresponding faces until she finally came upon Clara’s name. “Miss Clara Upshaw. Third row, fourth from the left.” She counted up three rows and over four persons until she landed on Clara’s face. When she did, a loud, shrill scream left her lips.

“Shh,” the librarian reprimanded as she pointed to a “no loud talking” sign.

Jamie nodded that she understood. She whispered apologies to the sparse group of people eyeing her in annoyance. She returned her focus back to the picture in front of her. Clara looked just like her! “It’s… impossible,” Jamie said in breathless disbelief. _That’s_ why this Sir Thomas Sharpe guy kept calling her that. For whatever reason, he was searching for this Clara woman even in his afterlife and then, lo and behold, here comes Jamie looking dangerously close to her. The poor spirit must’ve been confused. “Yeah,” Jamie assure herself aloud. “That’s it.”

Except she now had new questions. Why was someone of such high position concerned with a servant? Who was Clara to him? Jamie tried to remember what the ghost had whispered to her in her hotel room two nights ago but her memory had failed her. She couldn’t recall anything beyond early that morning. Anything she _did_ manage to rouse didn’t belong to her but were remnants of her never ending visions. She blamed the lack of sleep. Even a couple of hours would do her weakened mental state some good; but she knew that wasn’t going to happen until she solved this nagging mystery.

“Okay, Miss Clara Upshaw, who has my face… let’s find out more about you.” The rest of the article, of course, didn’t mention her so Jamie decided to search the library’s extensive online database. After nearly thirty minutes of wadding through seemingly endless information about multiple persons that shared Clara’s name, Jamie finally landed on an old news paper article. It didn’t provide much information. It was a tiny snippet in a piece about Sir Sharpe’s suicide: “‘At 3:28pm Miss Lucille Sharpe found her brother, Sir Thomas Sharpe, dead in the manor library in an apparent suicide by poisoning.’ Damn. That’s fucked up,” she remarked with genuine sympathy for Lucille. Jamie didn’t know what she would do if she were to ever find her brother’s dead body. Damien was her entire world. Just the thought of possibly losing him made a knot form in her stomach.

“‘This news,’” she continued reading, “‘comes just three days after Ms. Mary Upshaw reported her daughter, Clara Upshaw, missing. Young Miss Upshaw worked for the Sharpes. The police are said to start a formal investigation into the matter promptly.’” Jamie searched the archives for any information about said investigation but couldn’t find any. Sadly, she wasn’t surprised. Clara was poor, black and working class. Jamie knew that, regardless of the time period, those were three qualities that assured a missing person would never be found.

She felt a twinge of sadness in her heart for Clara and her poor mother.  Jamie had to find out what happened to her. There was only one place she would get her answers: Sharpe Mansion. She had to return there anyway for the robbery. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.


	3. Chapter 3

After her research at the library, Jamie returned to her hotel. Damien was pacing the parking lot while talking on his cell to Victor Reeves. “Yes, Victor, I assure you everything is going according to plan. I-I-I know Lawrence said… Victor, if you can… I know that but…” Damien glared at his sister when she passed by him. Jamie sighed in annoyance before unlocking her hotel room and entering it. Surely she was about to get an earful.

She had barely gotten comfortable when Damien stormed into her room. “Ah, let me guess,” she dryly said, “Victor Reeves is not happy.”

“Jamie…” He leaned against the door frame and scratched the back of his head. “I need you to be on your A-game tonight. No more of what happened the other day. Lawrence,” he looked behind him in fear that the muscular guard might suddenly appear. Damien stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. “Lawrence is telling Victor everything. The way you behaved Thursday, the way you barely paid attention while strategizing… It’s… It’s making Victor very nervous. And when he gets nervous—”

“It’s bad for us. I get it. I get it.” She kicked her shoes and rose from the chair she was sitting in. She pulled her duffel bag from under the bed and took out various items. She made a mental checklist to make sure everything she needed for the night’s robbery was in place: gloves, wire cutters, mask, comfortable and quiet shoes.

Damien watched her in silence for a moment. Jamie moved slowly as if her body was as heavy as stone. Regret for his selfish behavior started to build in him. It was obvious she was still upset about this entire venture. She was afraid that something bad would happen if they returned to the mansion; and he was afraid of the outcome if they didn’t. Yet watching her now sluggishly pull out her black tank and put it on the bed as if she had just lifted the weight of ten dead men redirected his fear. The whole point of this job was so they could retire together to some place that didn’t share extradition laws with either the U.S. or most of Europe. But what would be the point in continuing this mission if he had to sacrifice his sister’s health in the process?

“J,” Damien said with a sigh, “I’m not… I’m not trying to be an asshole here. Really. I’m just worried.”

She shifted her focus from the items in her hand to him. “Don’t worry about Victor. He’ll get what he paid for.”

“I’m not just worried about him,” he walked closer to her and cupped her face in his hands. He frowned as he studied her features. Dark circles rested under her eyes. Her normally warm, brown skin looked ashen. She looked ill. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Really?” She pulled his hands from her face. “Is that why you told me to suck it up. Worry?”

The words hit him harder than any punch he’s ever received from men twice his size. He looked at his feet in shame. Jamie returned her attention back to her duffel bag. “I… I was an asshole,” Damien began softly. He was now looking away at something but he shifted uneasily on his feet. “I’m scared about this job, that’s true, but you know I love you more than anything, sis.” Her silence caused him to finally look back at her. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. And when you do you always wake up screaming.” He sat on the bed and grabbed her hand in his. She wanted to jerk away from him but her feeble state didn’t allow her the energy. “Maybe…” his eyes darted around as he searched for words. When he finally found them, he looked back at her and slowly said, “Maybe you should just… sit this one out.”

“What?” She suddenly found herself with enough renewed energy to yank free from his grasp. “Not even a minute ago you were telling me to bring my A-game and now you’re trying to kick me off this job!”

“I’m not kicking you off! I’m just… requesting that you take a break for a moment. Spend the night sleeping and once Lawrence and I have looted the place I’ll come back for you. You know I will.”

“I’m not worried about you coming back, D! I…” She dragged her hands down her face and groaned out her annoyance. “If I don’t go with you, who’s going to disable the security system? You?”

“I’ve done it before!”

“Yes, you have. As I recall, it took you twenty minutes to do what I can in three.”

“Who cares how long it takes me? The building is practically in the middle of nowhere and there won’t be any patrolling police cars to distract me. I can take an hour to shut the damn thing off and it won’t mean shit.”

Jamie sighed in resignation. He was right. The location of Sharpe Mansion provided them with ample opportunity to take their time with the robbery. Yet they both knew that just because they could go slow didn’t mean they should. They still had to be smart. Anything could happen. One of the Bellamy’s could decide to check on the property; or maybe they would be interrupted by some bored teenagers looking for some weekend fun. Even if neither of these scenarios occurred, it was still wise to get in and out as quickly as possible.

“You still need me, D.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t—”

“I’m going! I have to. I… I need to.” Damien started to question her further but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Just trust me on this, D. I got to go.”

“Fine,” Damien replied as he rose from the bed. He placed a sweet kiss on her temple. He screwed his face up at the feeling of her ice cold skin against his lips. He rested the back of his hand against her head. “You’re freezing! Are you sure you’re up—” She cut his question off with a stern look that warned him not to press the issue any further. He held his hands up in protest. “Okay! Okay! I’ll leave it alone. Just…” he gently grabbed her shoulders, “just promise me you’ll get some rest before tonight, yeah?”

Jamie replied with a quick, quiet laugh. “I’ll try.”

\--------

The mansion didn’t hold tours on the weekend which provided the twins with the perfect opportunity to break into the house. On their previous recon they learned that there were approximately twenty security cameras in the building as well as two separate alarms for the front gate and the house itself. On a good night, Jamie could disarm both alarms without breaking a sweat but tonight her weary body was working against her.

She had kept her word to her brother and tried to sleep. Yet the moment her eyes shut she found herself back at Sharpe Mansion. It seemed the spirits were too eager for her return to wait. Especially Sir Thomas Sharpe. The second she entered the mansion he rushed to her with outstretched arms. “Are you here to stay now, Clara,” he had asked her.

“I’m not… I’m not Clara. My name is Jamie and-and this is a dream. Or something like that. None of this is real.”

“Is that so? Tell me, my dear, is this not real?” He roughly grabbed her and placed a kiss on her so passionate that Jamie’s knees nearly buckled under her. She had bolted out of her sleep in a panic. She could still feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. Ragged breaths escaped her mouth as she looked around the room. The light of the setting sun peaked through her open hotel window and bathed the small room in its purplish hue. He was there. She could feel him but not just him. She was there, too. The other one. The one who’s anger and hatred engulfed Jamie like a fire eating a straw house. Lucille. It was a warning. A warning she couldn’t ignore but, due to their situation with Victor as well as solving this Clara mystery, she also couldn’t heed it.

“Clara!” The sound of the name falling from her brother’s lips snapped Jamie back to the present.

“What did you just call me?”

“I said ‘Jamie.’”

“No. You called me ‘Clara.’”

“Who’s Clara?”

“She’s… Nobody. I mean… she is someone but... I think…” her voice trailed off.

Damien waved his hands in front of her face. When that didn’t bring her back he snapped his fingers repeatedly. “Jamie!”

“Sorry. Sorry. Wh-what was I doing?”

“The alarm. J, are you sure you’re up for this?”

She gave a derisive laugh. “It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” She pushed against the gate causing it to partly open. “Let’s go rob this bitch.”

She slinked between the gate doors and made her way toward the house with her brother and Lawrence in tow. She disarmed the house alarm and Damien cut the electricity thereby disabling the cameras. He quickly picked the locks to the large front doors and they entered the house. “Okay,” Damien said as he pulled out a pamphlet he had kept from the day of their recon. He read it via the flashlight in his hand. “Lawrence, you take the first three bedrooms. Remember take only the things we marked.” Lawrence nodded in understanding. “Jamie,” you take the last three bedrooms and the office. You got it? Take only—”

“‘Take only what we marked.’ I know. I’m not a virgin.” She tiredly ascended the steps; passing by the mute dead that had greeted her earlier. “Hey guys,” she whispered. Lawrence was climbing the stairs behind her and eyeing her suspiciously. She wasn’t sure if Victor had informed him of her gift or not and she wanted to be careful to not say anything in front of him that would give him cause for alarm. She didn’t need her brother upset by Lawrence tattling any more to Victor.

Jamie continued up the stairs and turned in the direction of the office on the right. She didn’t enter the room instead she hung back on the wall and watched as Lawrence walked into his assigned bedroom. She quickly tipped toed back to the main stairs but found the ghosts had vanished. “Shit!” She was proud of herself for learning from her earlier mistake of reflexively dismissing them but now it all seemed for nothing. Jamie had never learned to conjure up a spirit. She had seen it done a few times by older, more powerful psychics but always at some great mortal cost. As much as she wanted answers, she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her health any further.

“Fine,” she said in exasperation as she scratched the top of her head, “I’ll figure it out on my own guys.” She entered the first bedroom and immediately pulled down the Raphael that hung over the bed, carefully cut it out of its large frame, and gently placed it in her large duffle bag. Next she grabbed a glass encased Fabergé egg off the side table. She took a moment to admire the golden jeweled enameled egg. “This is going to fetch me a pretty penny. Thank you, Sharpes.” She placed it in the bag next to the painting. She continued until the room was clear. She turned and gasped when she saw the spirit of a young woman in white. Her arms held long bloodied gashes; her face was forlorn. The apparition’s entire life quickly flashed before Jamie’s eyes. The onslaught of information gave her a slight headache.

She pressed her index and middle fingers to her temple and made small circles to alleviate the pain. “You’re… Cordelia, right?” The spirit didn’t answer. “I’m going to take your silence as a ‘yes.’ Um… I don’t really know how to do this. I mean, I-I-I’ve never said more than ‘boo’ to you guys. Heh. Pun not intended.” The spirit continued to stare at her in response. “And you obviously don’t care. So… Uh, do you happen to know anyone named Clara Upshaw?” Still no answer. “She used to work here. She went missing? One of your descendants is spending a hell of lot of his afterlife looking for her. I just… I need to know what happened to her.”

The ghost remained silent. Jamie was becoming agitated. “Look,” she said through her teeth. “If you help me help Thomas then I’ll help you move on. Deal?” After another moment of silence, Jamie’s anger got the best of her. “Answer me! What the hell is wrong with you? Do I need an Ouija board to talk to you?” Finally the ghost responded with a shrill scream that rippled through every part of Jamie. She covered her ears and dropped to her knees on the floor. This is why she didn’t communicate with them past dreams. “Enough! Enough!” The screaming stopped. She looked at the doorway again. Cordelia had disappeared. Jamie closed her eyes and groaned as she rose off the ground. She was not going to make it through the night.

Every time she saw a ghost she got a quick flash of their life and death. Sometimes, depending on how severe said deaths were, she could feel them as strongly as if she had experienced them herself. She felt a burn down her arms. She passed her flashlight over her skin and saw a red mark down both arms just like the ones on Cordelia. “Fucking bitch,” she yelled out.

This continued as she burgled the next bedroom. Every apparition she encountered provided her with no answers to the disappearance of Clara. They were all more concerned with crossing over. And when Jamie couldn’t—rather wouldn’t—help them they became enraged and left. 

First, there was poor Edwin, who hung himself, in the second bedroom. He blew out the windows in anger. After he left her neck hurt as if it was threatening to snap. Then, in the hallway, Jamie saw another woman who ran through her—the force of it knocked her hard on her ass. The woman had shot herself in the head and Jamie suffered a throbbing headache because of it. By the time she made it to the office her body ached from dragging the loot she carried and from (literal) phantom pains. She opened a window and breathed in the cool night air. “Aah… That’s much better.”

“Clara?” The voice sent a different chill through Jamie. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see him. She hoped if she just ignored him that he, like the others, would eventually leave. “I knew you’d come back. We’ve been waiting so long.” She didn’t respond.

Ignore him and he’ll leave. Ignore him and he’ll leave, she thought to herself. Yet she heard his boots move across the hardwood floor. Her stomach dropped with each step he made. “Clara,” he repeated, “my love.” He reached out to touch her and once she felt that hand on her again she jumped and let out a loud scream.

She attempted to run from him but when she turned around what she saw caused her to freeze in her tracks. The room was suddenly filled with light. The walls were no longer painted with the fresh colors the new owners had chose for the renovation but covered in yellow wallpaper with black etching throughout it. The bookcase she had passed by earlier that was once filled with worn, dusty books had now looked as if its contents had just recently been placed on them. None of the spines looked even slightly cracked. Her breathing became erratic as she tried to comprehend where she was.

She turned to the man behind her and for the first time she saw him. Not in small peaks hiding from behind doors or windows; neither in a miniature blur from a great distance. Nor in the faded haze of an old photograph. She now truly saw him and he was handsome. Devastatingly so. His blue eyes were fixated on her as he stalked towards her. “Clara,” his voice sounded a lot less terrifying now, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’m not—” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips against hers. For a moment she was lost in the intensity of the kiss. His hands dropped to her ass and caressed it as his lips moved to her neck. “Sir Sharpe,” she breathlessly whispered, “we shouldn’t.”

“But, my love, we already are.” He leaned her against the bookcase. Now his hands worked at her clothes. Her clothes! The black tank and pants she wore had been replaced by a long sleeved, olive green dress. A white apron was tied around her waist. It had a pocket on the bottom right side and, even though Jamie had never seen or worn the apron before, she knew there was leftover lemon cake inside. She had an insatiable sweet tooth. No. Not her. Clara!

“Sir Sharpe,” Clara said while eyeing the door, “if your sister—”

“Let’s not worry about that now. There are better ways we could be spending our time, yes?” She looked down and smiled before meeting his lips again in a soft kiss. Thomas pulled away from her and fell to his knees. Clara held her breath in anticipation as he lifted the bottom of her dress. His large hands delicately touched her calf. She swallowed hard as his hands slowly moved further up her leg then her thigh and finally landed between her bare sex.

She sighed lovingly as he petted the curly tufts of hair between her thighs before wiggling a finger between her lower lips. This was the familiar feeling of a secret love affair. He was promised to another but he was Clara’s first and always. Yet he wouldn’t be hers for long. Therefore, each moment they were together was nothing less than heaven. “My beloved Clara,” he whispered, “I must have you.”

“I am yours,” she replied. Her words caught on a moan as his fingers danced in and out of her. She allowed herself to get lost in the ecstasy of his touch. Thomas removed his fingers only so that he could further lift her dress. He had a fervent desire to taste her. He had barely gotten her leg over his shoulder and was an inch away from having that delicious savor on his tongue when he heard his name.

“Thomas!” The sound made him momentarily freeze.

“Sir Sharpe,” Clara gasped, “it’s your sister!”

Thomas quickly rose. “She musn’t see you.”

“Thomas, where are you, brother,” Lucille called again.

“Hide under my desk. I’ll dismiss her quickly and once she’s gone you can quietly return to the kitchen. Go.” Clara obeyed and ducked under Thomas’ desk. The second she was out of sight, Lucille entered the doorway.

“There you are, brother! Did you not hear me?”

“I did! Forgive me, my dear. I was very busy.” All the excitement caused his breathing to quicken.

“‘Busy,’” Lucille question with a raised eyebrow. She studied her brother carefully. His cheeks were flushed in soft pink. His chest rapidly rose and fell as if he had just finished some exerting work. She swiftly glanced down at his crotch then away once she noticed his erection nearly threatening to burst from the seam of his trousers. Her face soured in pure disgust. “Doing what, I wonder. Or should I say whom?”

“Lucy, I assure you—”

“I warned you about biding your time with that trollop, Thomas!”

“Lucy, please!”

“Is she here? Hmm? Where are you hiding your little wench?” Lucille pushed passed her brother and fully entered the room. “Where could she be, I wonder.”

Clara was terrified. Lucille had caught her and Thomas once sharing a sweet kiss and threatened to have her jailed for indecency. It was a stretch—no judge worth his salt would call an innocent kiss “indecent”—but Lucille had money and an old family name behind her. Clara had some assurance that Thomas wouldn’t allow his sister to send her away yet the fear of the woman remained. Even now as she heard Lucille’s hard heels clack against the floor, Clara wasn’t sure if she’d be greeted with a reprimand or a gunshot to the chest. Her breathing shook then slowed as the bottom of Lucille’s dark purple dress stopped in front of her. A pair of arms reached down and yanked her from under the desk.

“Please, no! I’m sorry!”

“Jamie!” Jamie opened her eyes and saw that she was now back in the dark office. There was no ugly yellow wallpaper. No Thomas. No Lucille. Only her brother, Damien. “I heard you scream. Are you all right?”

“I… I…” Her chest tightened; her heart pounded as she inhaled large gusts of breath. “Where am I?”

“Sharpe Mansion. Jamie, you might need to go back to the van and rest. You don’t look so—”

“What did you call me?”

“Jamie… Your name.”

“Yes. My name is Jamie…” She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to conjure up her information. “Wallace. Jamie Wallace. I was born… I was born in Detroit, Michigan to… to Freida and Douglass Wallace.” Her breathing started to regulate. “The year is 2015. And you’re my twin brother, Damien.”

“All correct. Though I really think you should go back to the van. Lawrence and I can finish up here.”

“No,” she protested with a rapid headshake. “I can’t leave now. I won’t. I’m this close to finding out the truth about Clara.” Damien twisted his face in confusion. “I’ll tell you later. After I finish clearing this and the last bedroom.”

“J, I don’t—”

“D, I need to do this. I have a feeling once I figure this Clara thing out… everything will be made right. You just have to trust me.”

Damien had a myriad of questions for his sister. However, he knew the amount of time it would take for them to be properly answered was more than what they had to spare. He would have to let this go. For now. “Fine. I trust you. But if you black out like that again, I swear to god…”

“I won’t,” she lied. Jamie couldn’t be entirely certain whether she would lose herself to another vision or not. Clara’s connection to this house was much stronger than she anticipated. A part of her wanted to leave. To hell with Thomas and his precious Clara! To hell with Sharpe Mansion and all its fortunes and secrets! She wanted to be free from it all. Yet she know that if she left now—especially since she was so close—she’d never rest again. The spirits would always call to her. They wouldn’t stop until she returned. Until Clara returned. Besides, she still had so much work to do. For all of Jamie’s many faults, being a quitter was never one of them. She swore to solve the mystery of Clara’s disappearance and she intended to do just that. No matter how great the risk.


	4. Chapter 4

Jamie still felt a bit weak from her earlier encounter but she pushed through it. She quickly bagged the marked items in the office then headed for the last bedroom. She grunted as she dragged the heavy duffel bag into the hallway. “Shit,” she murmured while resting against the wall. She could really use a few hours of sleep. “Huh… I wonder what would happen if I passed out right now,” she pondered aloud before dropping to the floor. The question was meant as a joke but she began to seriously consider it for a moment. What would happen if she rested for just minute? Her dreams always led her to Sharpe Mansion and since she was already here where would she go? Would she finally get back her restless nights? Or would she sink even further into Clara’s past? She didn’t like the idea of leaving herself so open. Especially in a place as strong as this one. “Come on, girl,” Jamie said with a groan as she rose. “We can make it through one more room.”

She dragged her feet along the carpeted floor of the corridor as she made her way to the last bedroom on the right. The moment she stepped into the room she felt that icy chill move up her spine again; followed by that churning in her stomach. He was here. “S-sir Thomas?” She looked around the room but saw nothing. “Sir Thomas, I know you’re here. I’m not Clara. Regardless of what you may believe. But I really do want to help you find her. I’m just not… I’m not good at this kind of thing. I…” Jamie exhaled a light chuckle and shook her head. “What the hell am I doing? If he wants to make himself known he will.”

She decided it was best to finish her mission. Jamie continued stuffing various important items into her bag. Once it was full, she made her way back to the exit but stopped when she noticed a jewelry box sitting on the vanity. It was doubtful any valuables still lay inside. Most of the family jewels had either been looted while the house sat abandoned or already locked away in the local museum. Yet the curious little thief in Jamie couldn’t let it go unchecked.

She opened the box and, sure enough, found it empty. “Figures.” She headed for the exit again but stopped short again when her bag caught on a leg of the vanity. “Shit,” she grumbled as she tried to tug it free. “I… don’t… need… this… shit!” She fell backwards to the floor and barley missed hitting her head on the edge of the table. Jamie slowly arose with an agitated grunt. “I really am too old for this shit.” When she finally stood back on her feet she noticed a vanity drawer had open in all the commotion. Her curiosity drove her to open it fully.

When she did that ever present chill began to pervade her whole body. Every inch of her pulsated with coldness until she was numb to every sensation except it. It was an entirely foreign feeling for Jamie. It was as if Thomas—or maybe another spirit?—sought to possess her. Leave! Leave now, her thoughts pleaded. Yet another voice, a softer, feminine one, said aloud, “Open it. Find it. Find me.”

Jamie’s body seemed to move on its own now as it knocked against the back side of the opened drawer. The old wood wobbled at her touch before falling forward. Her hand reached further back into the opened compartment and tapped the top of a box. Her fingers scratched at the surface of it—the fresh splinters sinking into skin was ignored—until the box flipped on its side. The new position made the box more accessible. Once it was removed, she delicately opened the top. Her mouth dropped open in surprise at the fourteen karat diamond engagement ring sitting inside.

“It’s mine,” the female voice from before whispered. “Give it to me.” In spite of all her logic as a long-time thief, Jamie removed her gloves and slipped the jewelry on her ring finger.

She took a moment to admire the weight of it on her hand. She lifted it up and smiled at the way it sparkled under the warm lighting in the room. It never occurred to her to question the sudden brightness of the room; or the dark blue painted walls morphing into red rose wallpapered ones. Being in that room with that ring on her finger felt natural. Just like the long arms gently wrapping around her torso felt natural. “What do say, my love,” Sir Thomas’ voice whispered in her ear.

“It’s rather lovely, Sir Sharpe.”

He turned her to face him. “My sweet Clara, I think after all this time it would proper to address me by my name.”

Clara smiled bashfully as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thomas,” she whispered before looking away and giggling. It was all so improper! She wasn’t even supposed to be here in his room. Neither was she supposed to be held so lovingly in his warm embrace. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to be kissing him the way she was now. Or moaning as his lips traveled down to her neck. And that familiar wetness building between her brown thighs as his skillful hands tugged at the fabric of her dress was absolutely scandalous!

Yet she didn’t care. Neither did he. Right now, in this room, he wasn’t the last male heir to a dying dynasty and she wasn’t his colored maid. He was Thomas and she was Clara. Just two people doing what lovers do.

He helped her disrobe until she was standing nude before him. Thomas was no virgin and, thanks to him, neither was she yet his face couldn’t help but to redden. He thought her the most beautiful girl in the world. (Yes, even with her crooked smile and large, round eyes that she never grew into.) He kissed her lips again then moved to her neck then her collar bone. He stopped before he reached her breasts. Instead, he cradled her petite bosom in his hands. He thumbed over her nipples and smiled broadly when they hardened in response.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his hands on her bare skin. Each caress made every inch of her feel as if it were coming alive. She was born anew under his touch. “Thomas,” his name escaped so softly from her lips that it barely registered.

“Say it again, my love.”

“Thomas.”

Instantly, he scooped her in his arms and gently placed her on the bed. “You never answered my question, darling. Will you marry me?”

“Of cour—” Her reply was shortened by the hungry kiss Thomas placed on her.

Clara gasped for air as his mouth eagerly moved down her neck and finally landed on her breasts. He gently kneaded them in his palms before sucking on one. She bit her lips in response. If she were to audibly give into the pleasure he caused her then they would surely be caught.

He trailed a hand down between her legs and fondled her. Still she fought against the sounds hanging in her throat. Yet when he slipped a finger between her folds and elegantly moved it in and out of her, she could no longer resist. The repeated movements of his fingers against her sex wretched a loud, lustful moan from her lips. She called to Thomas. She called to God. When he pressed her thumb against her clit, she found herself lost for words besides a simple, “Aah!”

But it was never enough to just touch her. No. He needed to taste her. Her breathing slowed in anticipation as he kissed down her chest and stomach and stopped right at the apex of her thighs. He spread her legs further apart causing her to quickly cover herself. Her modesty always found a way to peak its head out during their moments of intimacy. “Never hide yourself from me, my love,” Thomas tenderly spoke as he removed her hands. He kissed the insides of her wrists before moving to her thighs. He kissed and nibbled up her left thigh. Every time his mouth touched her skin she’d sigh and wiggle her hips. The action made him smile.

She was never the type to outright beg for him. She expressed her want silently: a whimper, a bite of her lips, looking up at him under her long eyelashes. Her body cried for him even if her lips wouldn’t. Even now as he buried his tongue between her wet folds her chest rose and fell in erratic spurts. Even now as he added a finger to aid in his ministrations her thighs shook and threatened to enfold around his head.

His tongue continued to dance around her clit. She called his name in a whisper but he wanted her to repeat it as loudly as he had before. He pressed his mouth harder against her; his fingers moved faster inside her. Still she attempted to censor herself. But Thomas wouldn’t stop. Not until his precious Clara conceded to him. She fought valiantly but she was no match for that familiar heat building inside her. “Thomas,” she shouted as she finally reached her orgasm. There it is! The sound that surely made even angels envious!

Thomas smiled as he wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index. He climbed back up her and, before she could fully come down from her orgasmic high, he entered her. He rhythmically rocked his hips as he made love to her. Clara responded to every steady stroke with an appreciative moan. Her nails scratched across his back but didn’t break his skin. Their mouths met temporarily before he moved to her jaw then neck. His tongue lapped across her skin as he continued to stroke into her.

“Clara,” he breathed into her neck as his rhythm increased.

“Thomas,” she answered in reply. Hearing his name on such sweet lips was enough to drive him over the edge. He came inside her; she followed soon after.

Thomas rested his head against her right shoulder for a moment before rolling off of her. “Say it again,” he requested between pants.

“Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas!” It was foolish to think that a simple word could mean so much. Yet for these lovers it was everything. It was the shattering of the final barrier in their relationship. There weren’t any more titles or societal classes to separate them. Just her Thomas and his Clara. Two lovers recuperating after another tryst.

Clara rested her head on Thomas’ chest and was about to drift off when the door suddenly flew open. They both yelped in surprise as they attempted to cover themselves. A furious Lucille stood in the doorway. Next to her was Constable Hartley. “There she is, Constable! Arrest that woman!”

Clara screamed and clung to Thomas as the constable tried to pull her away. “Unhand her!”

“Thomas, don’t make a scene. It’s for the best.”

Thomas pulled Clara tighter to him. “How is arresting my betrothed for the best?”

The constable stopped moving and looked back at Lucille. Her face displayed her shock at the news. “Wh-what,” she stuttered.

“She is to be my wife!” He showed his sister the ring on Clara’s shaking hand.

Lucille blinked rapidly as she tried to process the information. “What,” she asked again. Her tone was softer but her anger was still apparent. “You gave,” she said slowly, “our grandmother’s wedding ring… to this harlot!”

“She is the woman I love! You will respect that Lucille!”

“She is a temptress and a deceiver! She’ll ruin you!” She turned to the constable. “Arrest her! For indecency and prostitution!”

“I cannot, miss.”

“What? Why can’t you?”

“No man would ever sully his name to marry a whore, miss.”

“Apparently my brother would.”

“Enough,” Thomas shouted with a wave of his hands. “Lucy, this is madness! Clara is my betrothed and future madam of this house.”

“You’ll never marry that woman, Thomas! I won’t let you! I’d rather see you dead!” Lucille suddenly grabbed a handful of Clara’s hair and pulled her to the floor. Clara screamed in protest. Thomas and the constable tried to separate them but to no avail. “I’d rather see you both dead!”

The loud clap of thunder outside the bedroom window brought Jamie back to the present. She found herself on the floor next to the bed. One side of her head hurt. It was the same side Lucille grabbed Clara. “What a bitch,” Jamie said as she rose off the ground. The room filled with a flash of white as lightening struck outside. The sound of rain followed immediately after. Jamie looked back at the ring on her hand. “So Lucille hated Clara. Well that explains why Sir Thomas was so adamant about getting her back.” She tried to remove the ring but it wouldn’t budge. “Shit!” She made mental note to find some grease before the job was done.

Jamie didn’t want to leave the house wearing that ring. She didn’t give a shit how much it was worth. The visions were getting worse. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where they were headed. Lucille, in some way, aided in Clara’s “disappearance.” Jamie didn’t need to know the exact details. What she needed was to get the hell out of this house! She said she would try to solve the mystery behind Clara’s disappearance and she did—sort of. In this case, almost was good enough, right?

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. When she pulled it open she stepped into the bright lightly painted walls of the hallway. “What the f—” Jamie peered back into the bedroom. Except for a few flashes of lightening, the room was still dark. She looked back and forth between the dark bedroom of the present and the bright hall of the past. Her grip on the doorknob tightened. “Oh shit,” she whispered between panic breaths. “This is not good.”

She stepped back into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned against the hardwood. “It’s 2015. You are Jamie Wallace. You have a twin brother named Damien. Nothing else is real.” She quickly opened the door and swore when she still saw bright hall. She closed the door again and shrieked at the sight before her.

The dark room of the present was now replaced by a room engulfed by warm mid-afternoon light. “No, no, no, no,” Jamie whimpered. She marched to the window and looked out it. The gardeners were quietly trimming the trees in the backyard. One glanced upward at her and waved broadly.

“Clara! Clara,” he called.

The sound of the name made her heart quicken. She was not Clara! Sure she shared some facial similarities with the woman but she was not her! She might have suffered through countless visions but she was not Clara! She was Jamie Wallace of Detroit, Michigan. Jamie repeated this information as she stepped back from the window. “I have a twin brother named Damien. My parents are Frieda and Douglass Wallace. The year is 20—” She yelped when she ran into the vanity then again when she saw the face staring back at her in the mirror.

The skin was a shade lighter than her own chestnut brown but the round brown eyes were the same. The image had the same crooked smile as well. Staring back at her was Miss Clara Upshaw. “No! This can’t be!” Jamie exhaled shaky breaths as she examined her face again. She shook her head in disbelief. “No, no, no. This isn’t real! Wake up, wake up, wake up. You are Ja—” The squeaking sound of the door opening interrupted her thought.

“Clara! Oh thank God,” Thomas said as he strutted towards her. He embraced her in a tight hug. “You must leave. Lucille has gone mad. I have a friend, Daniel Allen, who lives in London. You’ll stay with him and his wife until I have properly dealt with my sister. Then I’ll send for you straightaway. I promise.”

Everything was happening too fast. Jamie still hadn’t fully processed her surroundings. Now Thomas was hurling new information at her. It was too much. She just wanted to go home. Back to 2015. Back to her brother.

“Clara,” Thomas yelled as he shook her, “can you hear me? You must go!”

“I’m not Clara,” Jamie replied. “I can’t explain it you but I… I somehow got stuck in this vision.”

“Vision? Oh no, my love,” he cupped one a cheek in his hand. “Have you gone mad, too?”

Jamie slapped his hand away. “I’m not your love and I’m not crazy! At least I don’t think. I am Jamie Wallace. I was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1986. This is not my time! This is yours and Clara’s! And-and I am stuck here somehow!”

“It’s fine,” Thomas said softly. “Everything’s fine. When we get you to London, we’ll find you a doctor.”

“I’m not—”

“Here you both are.” The duo turned to find Lucille standing in the doorway. One hand was hidden behind her. Her hair hung wildly about her face. Her normally soft features looked more pointed as her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed with anger. “I should have known I would find you here, Thomas. With her.”

“Lucy, you must calm down now.”

“Is that what I must do, Thomas,” she screamed. She stalked towards them. Tom planted himself between his older sister and his lover. Jamie clutched the back of his shirt as she tried to figure out a way to talk herself out of the situation.

“Lucy, let’s talk about this.”

“Now you want to talk!” She pulled a large knife from behind her. “The time for talking is done!” She swung wildly at both of them.

Thomas jumped back but to no avail. The sharp blade nicked his skin through his shirt. He swore at the stinging pain but wouldn’t let it deter him from trying to reason with his sister. “Lucy, please. Think. Think! They’ll lock you away.” She swung again and Thomas ducked the attack better this time.

Usually, Jamie remained unbothered in situations like this. By now she would have figured out a dozen ways to talk herself out of harm. Yet now she oddly found herself mute. Lucille struck again. This time Thomas managed to capture her free wrist. She swung once more in an obvious attempt to slit his throat. Both he and Jamie leaned back before he grabbed his sister’s other wrist. Lucille struggled against him. “Release me!”

“No! Clara, run! Run!”

Jamie didn’t argue. She pushed passed the warring siblings and exited the room. She ran down the stairs and, in her haste, missed a stepped and tumbled down the rest. She laid in agonizing pain at the bottom of the stairs. She tried to stand but her twisted ankle would not support the weight and she dropped back to the floor. “Help,” she called out. “Help me! Lucille’s trying to kill us!” Where in God’s name were the other servants? Why wouldn’t they help her? “Help! Please! Someone!”

From the top of the stairs Jamie heard Thomas’ echoing screams. She’s got him, Jamie thought. Well she won’t get me, too! She dragged herself towards the front door. If she could only get out then maybe she could escape this nightmare as well.

“You know,” Lucille’s voice echoed down the stairs. The sound of it surprised Jamie and she froze in her tracks. She looked back at the stairwell. “Francesa was perfect,” Lucille continued as she turned the corner and appeared at the top of the staircase. The front of her dress had a large, red stain. Thomas’ blood. Upon seeing it, Jamie resumed her painful trek to the front entrance. “Sure she was… a bit plain,” Lucille said while slowly descending the steps, “and really dull but she came from a good family. The Beaumonts and the Sharpes could have created a legacy that rivaled only the Queen’s. But no… No, no, no. He had to go and fall in love with you. No. Not you. What’s between your legs! I didn’t mind at first, you know. It’s an unfortunate disease of the Sharpe men: licentiousness. I thought you no more than one of his little affairs. But then,” she brought a hand to her chest and blinked away stinging tears, “then… I saw you wear my grandmother’s ring! Well… I suppose that would drive even the sanest woman ill.”

Lucille finally reached the bottom step. She watched Jamie continue to pull herself towards the front door. “How pathetic!” When Jamie’s hands were within reach of her destination, Lucille stopped her by stepping on her shattered ankle. Jamie released a loud, anguished scream. “Did you think I’ll share my name, my fortune with some common trash?” She ground her heel into Jamie’s ankle causing her to shriek again. “I’d rather see you both dead!”

She raised the knife but before she could bring it down Thomas yelled, “Lucille, stop!” He leaned against the stair railings. He held the side of his stomach and winced as he made his way a few steps. Thankfully she had only wounded him in their tussle. “Please don’t do this, sister!”

Lucille bent down and pulled Jamie’s head back. “You’d risk everything—all our family worked hard for—for this!” Thomas moved down another step but stopped when Lucille brought the knife to Jamie’s throat. “Not another step!”

“Fine… Fine… Just tell me what you want, Lucille, and I’ll do it.”

“Liar!”

“No! No, I swear. Just do not hurt Clara.”

“Damn her! Damn her to hell!”

“Lucy, no!”

Jamie cried out in agony as the sharp edge of the knife seared through her flesh. This was different from phantom pains she was used to. This wasn’t a sore neck or a irritating scratches. This was a deep, physical pain. The kind of pain that set every nerve in her body on fire. She felt her body weaken with each stab to her back. A pool of crimson blood formed beneath her. Her body grew numb but it didn’t give her relief. It was the same numbness she felt when she drowned at eight. Death was upon her. The sounds of Thomas’ yelling at his sister and their ensuing struggled grew muffled.

“Clara! Clara!” Thomas pulled her into his arms. “Clara, please.” Jaime only spat out blood in response. He looked at Lucille. She sat in pain on the floor; her broken wrist pulled close to her chest. The knife had been kicked far out of both of their reach. Thomas’ initial concern for his lover was replaced with seething rage for his sister. “Look what you’ve done!” He returned his attention to Jamie. “Clara, darling… Clara, my love. I’m so sorry. Clara…”

Soon darkness overtook Jamie and she found herself alone. No heaven. No hell. No God. No devil. Just emptiness. She never wanted to be in this lonely place again. “Damien! Damien! I’m so sorry.” It was futile to speak. He couldn’t hear her.

But then… A low voice began to surround her. “Jamie.” It was her name! “Jamie,” the voice repeated much louder now.

“Yes? I’m here!”

“Jamie!” This time a light accompanied the voice. It started off dull then grew until it was so bright that she closed her eye and turned her head from it. “Oh thank god!” Strong, familiar arms pulled her close. They belonged to her brother. “I thought I lost you,” he cried into her neck.

“You did,” she croaked out. “But I came back.”

“Thank god for that!” He released her from his bear-like hug but continued to cradle her in his arms.

“What… what happened?”

“I don’t know. You were out of it, sis. Lawrence found you screaming at the top of your lungs in one of the bedrooms. When he tried to help you, you ran out the room and fell down the stairs. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“No. I… I died,” she corrected him.

“What?”

“I died. Well… Clara did.”

“Who is Clara?”

“I am! I mean,” she grunted as she sat up, “I mean, she was me. It makes sense now.”

“J… you’re scaring me.”

“No! No. Listen. The reason why these ghosts are stronger than any other one I’ve ever felt is because I have a… a connection here.”

“You’re still losing me. Maybe you should—”

“No! I’m not crazy! I swear it. I wasn’t having visions—they’re never that fucking clear! They were memories. I was murdered here by Lucille Sharpe. Or at least my past self was. Clara!” Jamie sucked in a breath as her head began to throb. She rubbed her temple and continued, “Lucille hated her. Her brother, Thomas, and I—Clara were having an affair. Lucille was such a bitch about it!”

“Okay,” Damien said as he rose. “Okay. Just… take a breather, all right?”

“Please, D! You have to believe me on this!”

“I do! I believe… I believe you believe what you’re saying.” Jamie rolled her eyes. There was no way she could ever explain it to him. She didn’t even have the energy to try any more. “Listen, Lawrence and I will pack up our shit and then we’re going to get you the hell out of here. We’re going to give Victor his shit, get our cut, then retire to someplace nice.”

“With no U.S./Europe extradition laws?”

He chuckled. It was nice to hear that she still had her sense of humor. “With no U.S./Europe extradition laws,” he repeated. “Now come on.” He extended her a hand and helped her off the ground.

“Is she all right,” Lawrence asked as he descended the stairs.

“She’s fine. I’m taking her to the library to rest a moment. Then I’m going to clean up around here and then we can leave.”

“Clean up? We don’t have time for that shit.”

“Hey!” Usually Damien feared the tall, muscular man but he feared his sister’s waning physical and mental state more. He didn’t believe in past lives or reincarnation and, up until tonight, he was certain Jamie didn’t either. There was something about this place that was changing her. Something he couldn’t place. “Her gloves are missing. She was running all around this place so there’s a good chance her prints are on every-fucking-thing. I’m not going to let her get caught. I know my shit. I won’t take me ten minutes.”

“Whatever. Fucking freaks,” Lawrence muttered under his breath as he headed towards the exit.

Jamie leaned against Damien as he carried her to the library. He sat her in a large, red chair. “You just rest here, all right? I’m going to take care of you and then we’re out this bitch.”

Jamie nodded weakly in reply and watched him bounce out the door. She sighed heavily as she reclined further in the chair. Her back was still wracked with pain. She gingerly placed a hand to her lower back and exhaled a relieved breath when she found neither her clothes nor skin riddled with stabbed wounds. “God I could use a drink,” she mumbled as she laid her face in her hands. “A nice cold bottle of something 180-proof.”

“Clara.” The voice came in low followed by that all too familiar chill.

“Oh god no…”

“Clara… Welcome back.”


	5. Chapter 5

A terrible panic arose in Jamie. She wanted to spring up from the chair and run as far as possible but her body was still weak. She only had enough strength to roll onto the floor. If she couldn’t run to safety then, by God, she would crawl! She groaned in pain as she slowly pulled herself to the large library archway. It felt as if every bone in her body was broken. Her wrists and knees burned in agony. Her body threatened to give out on her with each tiny movement. “Fuck it,” she grumbled in defeat as she laid against the floor. The pain was stronger than her panic or fear. She should just stay there until her brother returned.

Yet that pervading chill was still there. He was still there. Jamie heard him chuckle; then came the sound of heavy boots walking across the carpeted floor. Those sounds were enough to stir up enough adrenaline to reinvigorate her. She ignored the pains in her body as she rolled onto her hands and knees. Just when she started to crawl a pair of long legs stopped in front of her.

She wanted it to be her brother. Hell she even prayed for it to be Lawrence. Anybody but him. Thomas squatted down above her. He smiled at her sweetly but the adoring look gave Jamie no comfort. She wanted to be far from both him and this house. “My darling little Clara, what are you doing on the floor?”

“I’m not Clara!” How many more times must she say that before he understood?

Thomas only chuckled again in reply. He grabbed both shoulders and lifted her to her feet with a grunt. “Oh but you are!” His eyes flittered over her features as he lovingly brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “We both know that.”

“No! Your Clara is dead! I’m sorry if that hurts to hear that but she is. She’s gone and—” Her words were cut off by Thomas pressing his thin lips against hers. She wanted to push away from him but she felt her knees weaken instead. A powerful urge to touch and be touched by him overtook her. She had never felt that way before. Usually when she saw or felt him she wanted to scream and flee in terror. However this new emotion—this new desire… That was more frightening that the kiss being forced on her right now.

When he finally broke the kiss he looked into her eyes and said, “Do you still doubt you are her, my love?”

“Y-yes,” Jamie replied weakly. His affect on her was still apparent. She cleared her throat and regained her composure before trying to break free of his grasp. “Let me go!”

“Never! I lost you once and I won’t lose you again!”

“Goddammit! Please…” her voice nearly broke as she spoke. “Please, listen to me. I am not Clara.”

“Then who are you?”

“I am…” Jamie went to say her name but found herself at a lost for words. The name danced around in her head but Jamie couldn’t quite catch it. “I’m…”

“Clara Upshaw. My Clara.”

“No!” Jamie pushed away from him but immediately regretted doing so. Her body still wasn’t strong enough to support her weight and she dropped hard back to the floor. “Ow… shit!” Thomas tried to help her up again but she swatted him away. “Leave me alone! I’m not Clara and I’m not yours! I’m Jaime!” She couldn’t help but smile at the ease in which her name fell from her lips. She repeated it again. “Jamie! My name is Jamie—” Her mind went blank when she tried to recall her last name. Was it Hart? No. That wasn’t her real name. That was a moniker she used since her last name change. What was her original name? Something with a “W.” Washington? Whitley?

Thomas noticed the confusion on her face. He smiled as he squatted next to her. “Yes…Who are you?”

“I… I am…”

“You are Clara Upshaw.” Jamie fervently shook her head as he spoke. “You are her! You look like her, you sound like her. My darling, you even kiss like her. Who are you if you are not my beloved?”

“Please stop.” Jamie felt a quick sickening churn in the pit of her stomach. Indeed who was she? She tried to access her memories but they were just hazy pictures. Quick flashes of moments that felt as if they belonged to someone else. It was almost like déjà vu: reliving a moment that you’ve never remembered experiencing. Jamie who? From where?

“Clara, my love, please! I’ve waited so long. You’ve come back and I will never let you go. You belong here… with me.”

“I… I can’t…”

“Why not? You said you’d return to me. You said it right here! In this room! When you told me to take my life! You said that you’d be waiting for me. What keeps you from fulfilling your promise now, my darling?”

“She… she won’t let me in. She won’t let me…” The words fell from Jamie’s mouth involuntarily.

Thomas angrily grabbed Jamie’s shoulders and shook her. “She’s mine! Let her come back to me! Give her back to me!”

“I…” the words hung in her throat. A part of her wanted to slip way. To let go of the reality she thought she knew. Yet another part held firmly onto it. It wouldn’t give up so easily. An image flashed in her mind. The one thing that could keep Jamie from being fully consumed by Clara. Damien’s smiling face. “I—” she said again softly.

“Yes? You what, Clara, darling?”

“I am… Jamie,” her voice was low. Thomas clenched his jaw in seething anger. “And I have a brother named Damien,” her voice was more confident now, “And your Clara is dead.” She nearly spat the words out.

Yet Thomas wouldn’t give up. He was so close. He had waited centuries for his beloved to return to him. Now that she was near—just a heartbeat away—he wouldn’t resign his efforts. Not in the least. “You have no brother, Clara.” He said the words boldly and confidently; as if he was certain that there was no other truth than that. “Your only sibling was a girl and she died in your youth.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Jamie replied with a shake of her head. “You’re trying to make me forget who I am so that she can take over. But it won’t work.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she defiantly repeated. “She lived her life now leave me mine!”

Thomas pursed his lips tightly as he released his hold on her and rose. He walked to a bookshelf and pulled out a dust covered book. He opened it then looked back at her. “Tell me, Jamie,” his tone was mocking.“Where were you born? Who are your parents? Who do you know besides this brother you speak of?”

Jamie’s head began to throb. Her memories were still foggy. She closed her eyes in hopes that it would better aid her but to no avail. They were still vague recollections that she couldn’t pinpoint. Even worse, the memories that she could make out did not belong to her. Instead they belonged to Clara. She could see the little two room house where Clara grew up. She could feel the grief of watching her father pull her older sister’s body out of the river where she slipped and lost her life. She could vividly recall her mother’s loud wail after her father was burned to death in a factory fire. Each image that appeared before her pulled at her emotions as if she were actively reliving them. Yet she wasn’t. That wasn’t her life. Or was it? Who was she again? She was Jamie who? From where?

She tried to conjure up memories from her past—any- and everything!—no matter how trivial. Her favorite food or color, her first boyfriend, the name of her high school mascot, the first car she ever drove, the last person she fought with… Yet she produced nothing. Tears began to well in her eyes. “I,” she whispered through hiccupping breaths, “I’m not sure anymore.”

A smirk etched on Thomas’ thin lips as he pulled out a glass vial from the hidden compartment in the book in his hand. “See, my dear?” He place the book back on its spot on the shelf. “You are my sweet Clara.”

“No… no! I’m… I’m…”

“I know, darling. It must be awful. But that confusion will all end if you just stop fighting it.” He walked back towards her and squatted before her again. “Come to me. Be mine. Forever.”

Jamie tried to hold onto the image of her brother but it grew fainter by the second. She couldn’t even remember his name. Devon? David? Who was he? Nobody. And she was nobody as well. “H-how,” the word shakily escaped her lips. “How do I get back?”

“Drink this, my love. Like I did.” He handed her the vial. “Drink and be mine forever.”

Jamie looked at the poison in her hand then up at Thomas before glancing down at her palm again. The smiling image of her brother was nearly fully faded away. With him went the last of her memories. The last collection to this present world. Well… almost. The only thing left of her was this body. As soon as that was taken care of, Clara could fully return. Jamie’s hands shook as she twisted open the top. Tears fell down her cheeks as she looked again at Thomas. “Drink,” he repeated, “and come home.”

\--------

Damien looked at the time on his watch. They should have really been out of this damn house a half hour ago. He regretted not listening to his sister when she told him that this job was bad business. Her feelings were always right. Yet he was more concerned about Victor than her. He mentally kicked himself for his transgression. He would make it up to her somehow. The first place they would go on their retirement would be to some tropical beach somewhere. She’d get drunk and he’d spend days making love to some beautiful woman whose name he couldn’t properly pronounce. He smiled at the image. He could almost feel the sand between his toes and the long nail scratches down his back.

He swatted her leather gloves against his palms as he bounced down the stairs. “Jamie! Found your gloves! Now let’s—” He stopped short when he saw Jamie sitting on the floor of the library quietly sobbing. “What’s wrong, J? You fell?” She didn’t respond. Instead she twisted open the top of some bottle in her hand and after a brief pause tossed it back. “Jamie! Jamie, no!”

He ran towards his sister and pulled her into his lap. “Jamie! Jamie, can you hear me?” He lifted the vial but the name had long worn off the label. “No, no, no. I got you! Don’t worry!” His breathing grew erratic as his eyes darted around the room in a weak attempt to find help but he was alone. “Open your mouth! Open your mouth!” He forced two fingers into her throat causing her to successfully spit up some of the poison. Yet it wasn’t enough to save her. “Jamie! Jamie! What did you do? What did you do?” She croaked out an inaudible response and weakly pointed to a corner in the room.

Damien looked to where she aimed but saw nothing. He didn’t have the gift of his sister and, therefore, couldn’t see a smiling, waiting Thomas. Jamie shook violently in his arms causing him to return his focus back to her. “Jamie! No, no, no! We’re almost done!” She continued shaking before suddenly going still and silent. “No! Jamie! We’re close to getting out! Come back.” He shook his sister but she didn’t respond. Jamie was gone. “Come back,” he continued to weep; this time he said the words into her neck. “Please…”

Thomas impatiently watched the scene. Clara—his Clara—should have made herself known by now. This was supposed to work! He waited too long for this. Where was she? Suddenly a pair of petite arms wrapped around his waist. He turned and smiled broadly at his darling lover. “Welcome home, my love.”

“Thank you, darling,” Clara responded sweetly, “for waiting for me.”

“Of course, my love. My darling Clara.” He kissed the knuckles of her hand followed by a passionate one on her lips. They embraced and, without even a passing glance at Damien or his dead twin, faded away.

“Jamie, please wake up,” Damien softly cried. “Wake up. Wake up, wake up. We’ll leave right away. I promise. Just…” His body shook as his crying became stronger. He caressed his sister’s cheek—she was still warm—and pleaded, “Please… please… Jamie… I’m so sorry…” He pulled her body close to his and rocked as he let out a loud wail. The sound of it echo through the empty halls.


End file.
